Wrapped in the Warmth of You
by elwing3
Summary: When Bengamin Martin and his wife took in the tiny orphan baby, they didn't know they'd change history forever, or save Gabriel's life. Whatifs are dangerous, here's mine.
1. Surrounding Regrets

"What in God's name are you doing up in that tree, Amy," Gabriel Martin yelled angrily as he stomped through the golden wheat field to the foot of the tree. A young girl in a pale pink broadcloth dress glanced down toward Gabriel with a devilish smile. "Hello Gabriel!" she said as she waved mockingly. Gabriel watched anxiously, his eyes betraying panic, as Amy swung her legs over a branch and held on loosely upside down. He never got the better end of their disagreements. They usually ended the same as this one had, with Amy doing something foolish or dangerous just to prove herself to him. "Amy Card, you get down out of that tree before I climb up and get you myself," Gabriel nearly screamed. Laughter rang out from where Amy sat in the tree's old branches. "Oh Gabriel, stop trying to act like your father, and climb up here with me," "Climb up? In that old thing? It hasn't been sturdy since last winter." Gabriel shouted, trying to caution her. "Suit yourself," Amy giggled out as she stood on her tippy-toes and tried to reach a higher branch. "Fine," Gabriel spat out as he turned to leave, "But don't come crying to me when you break your ne.." CRACK! Gabriel spun around fast enough to see the broken branch and leaves fall gracefully to the ground around the still form of Amy's blood-soaked body. "NOOOO!"


	2. A Subtle Realization

Firstly, I do not at all nor have ever owned "The Patriot," any of its affiliates or copyrighted material, including reserved rights. Amy Card alone is mine drawn from imagination.

Secondly, Thanks to Charlotte Norrington for her kind and helpful review.

Any other nessecaries have at this time escaped me, so on to the main event.

* * *

"NOOOOO!" Gabriel screamed, sitting bolt upright on his cot. Surveying his surroundings with unbelief, Gabriel cautiously laid his throbbing head in his hands. The nightmare had been different this time, longer. Every detail of it, every moment had been as real as the day it happened even to the flowered print on Amy's dress.

Cold sweat trickled down his heaving chest as Gabriel rose shakily, letting his thin, gray blanket pool around his bare feet. Thrusting back the flaps of the tent, Gabriel looked anxiously around him, before sauntering, in what he hoped to be a carefree manner, around the dying campfires to the latrine. Ignoring the pitying eyes of friends, and choked laughter of the newest recruits, Gabriel undid the buttons on his breeches to relieve himself.

Sensing someone standing to his right, Gabriel turned and saw John Harding, one of his closest friends. Smiling, John glanced up from refastening his breeches, "Might want to keep the screaming down, there mate." John said quietly, watching the shadows and lines of Gabriel's face. Gabriel looked searchingly into John's eyes, wondering how much he knew. John shrugged. "You know," John continued, "What with them not knowing Amy." Gabriel waited, interested at how much his friend knew. "And?" Gabriel asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Well," John continued mockingly, "if they did they'd be screaming too," Gabriel laughed, surprising himself. He hadn't laughed for weeks. Cuffing John lightly, Gabriel put his arm around John's shoulder and pulled him toward the tavern in the rural outpost the army had camped near for the night.

Hours later, John and Gabriel walked unsteadily across the field, back to their tents, both leaning on each other as Gabriel chuckled at John's latest joke. At the end of the row of tents Gabriel stopped to push the intoxicated John into his tent. Turning to leave, he noticed two soldiers staring at him as they hunched before a campfire. "Wwhat," Gabriel slurred as he felt anger rising like boiling water before in his sluggish mind. The two soldiers quickly turned back to their conversation, but not before Gabriel noticed, through his drunken stupor how familiar the blond, lean one looked. Shrugging inwardly, Gabriel plodded on to the tent and collapsed on his cot in complete exhaustion.


	3. Awakening Vows

All she would ever be able to remember afterwards were voices. Voices she knew, and ones she didn't. Gabriel's hysterical repetition of "I'm sorry, I could have done something," through his tears. Benjamin Martin's commanding voice as he gently picked her up, calling for Thomas to saddle his horse, and for Meg to tear up the old sheets in the attic and set water to boil.

And then there was the pain. Raking through her mind and body, tearing her world apart, right down the middle, like someone ripping a sheet of paper, it came. Without origin, or undulation, it throbbed through her. Wave after wave caught at her, surrounded her. Trying to scream, she discovered with fear worse than the ache that she couldn't. The fall had sheered, with a blunt white-hot knife, her mind from her body. Then from some merciful hand came a liquid that brought darkness, cool, sweet, blessed darkness, like the quiet after the rain.

When she again gained realization of her surroundings, the pain had ebbed, but only slightly and she longed to slip back to that dark place again with its blessed peace. Warm, bitter liquid was poured gently down her throat as someone held up her aching head, causing paroxysms of pain to shoot from her chest, legs, and side. "Crying, somebody's crying," Amy Card thought with minimum interest as the pain slowly returned from its brief retreat. "There, there now Mrs. Martin, a stronger young lady I haven't seen," came the gentle voice of old Dr. Abbington. "Mother, Mother's crying," Amy vaguely realized as she made another bitter struggle against her semi-unconsciousness. The sound of footsteps faded gently in the distance leaving Amy with a sense of quiet. Mustering every last bit of energy in her, Amy slowly pushed herself up toward consciousness.

The light that met her eyes was met to be soft, but the aching membranes caused Amy to shudder at the new element. Gingerly moving her hand, Amy searched for the origins of the ache she felt. Fresh soft bandages met her questing fingers. Satisfied, Amy turned to look out the second story window, when a thin silhouette met her eyes. Draped gracefully over the foot of her bed lay Gabriel Martin, with three-inch circles under his tired eyes. Wanting to touch him, to stroke his head, to do anything to prove he was real, Amy struggled to lean forward, meeting only with an agonizing wave of pain. Whimpering softly, Amy lay back and gasped when she realized Gabriel's eyes were open. For a moment all the two could do was stare in disbelief at the other. Then with the spontaneity born of suffering, Gabriel crawled forward to Amy; gently avoiding her bruised legs and sides. Filled with wonder and curiosity, Amy leaned in. Completing the distance Gabriel gently turned Amy's face to his and kissed her. Shock and something new to Amy filled her mind and stomach. Gabriel's mouth was warm and hard on hers and when he pulled back, Amy could barely keep herself from crying out. Turning her chin downward, Amy caught a light in Gabriel's soft brown eyes. Eyes that were never hard or angry were now vulnerable and dangerous, even as they turned on Benjamin and Elizabeth Martin, the picture of shock as they stood framed in the doorway. And in that halted eternal moment, Amy felt rather than knew that vow that had passed between them, the vow that would lead her to theft and murder in the long year ahead.


	4. Searching for a Prayer

Amy Card had mused in front of the dying fire for over an hour, trying to avoid conversation with the overly talkative lieutenant by her side when she finally caught sight of him. Drunk, as usual on nights like this, Gabriel Martin stumbled toward the fire's light. "Wwhat," he managed to slur as he noticed their watching faces. Shrugging Amy began to turn back to the fire when she caught a startled look in Gabriel's eyes. Hunching over, and mimicking a cough Amy prayed he wouldn't recognize her. Moments like these had become all too familiar lately as Gabriel teetered on the brink of discovery. Trying to disguise her fear, Amy glanced over the worn blue shoulder of her Continental uniform, sighing quietly as Gabriel stumbled into his tent. Moments like these were always a draw for her. Fear of being recognized as what she was and thrown out fought stubbornly with the urge to run up to him and shout, "Yes, you're right it's me! I'm here!" The conflict only ended when Gabriel turned away still slightly bewildered.

Bidding the lieutenant good night, Amy stalked over to her tent with the air of an injured wild cat, dangerous and waiting. The day Gabriel to join the Continentals came back to her unbidden along with the same familiar surge of anger. Gabriel had never wanted to admit that he understood her need to ride the family horses or shoot his father's gun, just as she had never approved of his learning to stitch for odd chores. Deep down they both knew the truth of it, knowing with instinct each other's need to be apart of the others activities.

But when the war came to South Carolina, Gabriel turned a deaf ear to her pleas and rode across the golden cornfield, with a straight back and a firmly set face. Turning to go to the barn, Amy was aware of Benjamin Martin staring at her with something like acceptance mixed with surpressed anxiety and anger. After saddling her chestnut mare and leading him down by the pond, Amy slowly walked back through the cornfield and up the porch steps where Benjamin Martin stood waiting. Kissing him on his left cheek, Amy was startled to be pulled into a tight hug. Nodding, she turned and ran down the steps and across the field to her waiting horse.

So much of those first few months was a blur, the stealing of men's clothing from clothes lines and laundry baskets, the clumsy hacking of her hair that left a livid gash along her left cheek, and the constant fear of exposure were all things she preferred to forget. For weeks, Amy found herself drifting from town to town searching for Gabriel's regiment without plan or even idea as to what she would do when she found him.

It was dark the night she finally ran across them, laying up for the evening in a wooded creek bed. Tightening the binding about her chest in the hope of smoothing the still noticeable lump, she had walked firmly into camp, attempting to appear as masculine as possible. Later she realized all the mistakes she had made. Walking right into a camp of armed and trigger-happy men, Amy had found ten barrels trained on her before she was halfway to the nearest tent.

After hours of questioning, Amy somehow found herself wearing a blue Continental coat and cream breeches and being assigned a tent. It was then that she saw him, walking back from the creek, his arms filled with canteens. He had glanced at her before turning to stare at her again. He was thinner than she remembered, gaunt from months of rough usage, and his eyes, still as brown as before, had stared out of a hungry tired face.

So many times Amy could sense him staring at her, looking for all the world like he'd seen her ghost. And so many times, Amy had had to hide, to fight to keep herself near him.

Sliding between the paper-thin sheets of her cot that night, Amy tried to shut out those brown tired startled eyes, as they gazed at her through the dancing shadows.


End file.
